


an ode to temporary melancholy

by abominableastronaut



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Elezen Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Nonbinary Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, spirit vessel road trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abominableastronaut/pseuds/abominableastronaut
Summary: If I were to tell you that this isn't the end ─ that we will meet again ─ would you believe me?Before the journey home, the Warrior of Light has some farewells to make. They bring the Exarch along.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Scions of the Seventh Dawn & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Kudos: 6





	an ode to temporary melancholy

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a furious bout of energy after finishing 5.3 in September, and then promptly spent the next three months procrastinating on posting it. I spend a lot of time while playing through MSQ considering what the Warrior of Light would have to say about one thing or another, and what they'd do in the moments we don't see. This hopefully sheds some light on mine.

The spirit vessel glows faintly in Áine's hand, fading quickly now the transference is complete. Its heat is a warm counterpoint to the tears flowing freely down their face.

The Exarch _─_ G'raha _─_ stands immovable before them. The taste of the last kiss they'd shared, already marred by the crystal forcibly spreading through his body, is being washed away by the salted tear tracks, their face becoming a blubbering mess, so they hold tight to the thoughts of the last few minutes to commit them to memory instead. There were too many words left unsaid, and too many that were not said enough in the time given to them. They can’t recall if they told him they loved him, everything said in their panic and post-battle crash blurring together in their mind.

They can hear footsteps behind them, the familiar noises of the Scions coming up the long flights of stairs. Six pairs of feet: _so they’re all safe._ Their friends stop a few yalms away once they reach them, taking in the sight. Elidibus is gone, and the statue isn’t hard to miss. Áine knows there is much to explain, but there aren't words for that they would have the ability to speak right now.

A moment, a little eternity in this place with the crushing emptiness rushing through them, and Ryne’s hand slips into the crook of their elbow. The twins crowd around on their other side. Thancred is shuffling his feet behind them all, a familiar nervous tic as the group realise the fight is over. Áine takes one last look at the statue, fingers gently brushing the cold stone, before turning to her friends and gathering the three teens up.

Ryne leans into the hug. Alphinaud almost collapses into it with an exhausted sigh. After a moment, Alisaie loops her arms around the others and holds them close, shooting Áine a wan smile. Áine returns it with an expression that feels barely strung together, wiping a smudge of dirt from the girl’s cheek. Alisaie scowls before burrowing closer, pulling a sharp hiss from her brother as she hugs him and Ryne with all her might.

The Scions are bruised, battered, and alive. A small piece of their broken heart fits back together, and Áine begins to talk.

* * *

Beq Lugg is confident that the vessels will work. They mutter to themselves as they wait for Urianger to finish his inspection of the empty crystals, shuffling across the Ocular in impatient circles. Y’shtola is happy with the results too, and at last Urianger seems content as he completes his examination.

The Exarch's own vessel burns in the pouch across Áine’s chest, sitting closest to their heart. Despite that awareness, it feels natural to keep it so close, which bodes well. They don’t yet wish to test the theory and cross the portal, but they feel hopeful about their part in the plan.

After a night alone, the Scions letting them keep to their room in peace, they know their countenance is grim. Whispered conversations on similar nights had barely gotten past the possibilities of such a plan working, and Áine feels lost in leading a plan so far out of their realm of expertise as to be laughable. Thinking it over had kept them up long past a reasonable time of night, only company another of those ridiculous Kholusian birds set up on their balcony.

Everyone agrees to make their final visits before they leave, scattering across Norvrandt. Though their unique situation means they can likely return when they wish, Áine has their own goodbyes to say.

They think of a dusty tower in Amh Araeng, of a city under the waters of Kholusia. Of people they might never speak to again. Áine rests a hand above the vessel, resisting the urge to clutch it like a child. _Not again. Not ever again. Not him too._

Alisaie cracks a joke about carrying the Exarch around for his farewells, and they smile. It's unconvincing, if the face the younger Elezen pulls when she sees it is any indication. She drags them along to the Amaro Launch, picking out their mounts for the journey to Journey’s Head. She's as enthusiastic as always, but there's an undercurrent of something else in there. Alisaie has always been one to talk about her feelings when she wants to, and not a moment before, so Áine simply squeezes her shoulder gently before they set off, not forcing a conversation.

If Alisaie wants to talk to them about how hard it is to leave, she'll talk when she's ready.

* * *

Amh Araeng is as dusty as ever. While Alisaie heads straight to the inn, Áine takes an hour to wander around the market stalls at Mord Souq.

"You know," they whisper softly to the vessel, head angled down to the pouch their hand has scarcely left, "the first time I came here I had to buy something to gain acceptance from the Mord. I ended up with food, which was not the best choice in hindsight." They let out an amused hum, carefully steering clear of Rhon Ron's stall. "I ended up giving most of it away."

It seemed important to say that, something they’d not wanted to admit to the Exarch when they were only acquaintances and it seemed embarrassing, but they feel conscious of the people around them. These aren’t words intended for a curious eavesdropper.

They fall quiet, touring the rest of the outpost with only the occasional soft murmur of some story or other to their sleeping companion. It's a hot day, and Áine ducks in and out of the shade frequently as they wander the market. When it's time to leave, they refill their canteen and give one last wave to the Mord near the gate. The walk to the inn at Journey's Head is quiet, with only the wind and the soft noises of the local animals to accompany them. The rocks cast long shadows in the afternoon sun, the approaching darkness feeling odd even after short weeks of persistent light.

The inn is as peaceful as always, Alisaie out at the graveyard with Halric and one of the healers. Joining her quietly, Áine lets Alisaie lead the goodbyes, giving a silent prayer of their own for Tesleen. When Halric speaks the same words they remember from their first visit, that the time left to them is precious, they think maybe she heard it.

Áine wanders a little further from the graves, speaking a little of Tesleen and Halric’s stories to the vessel. They'd told G'raha about Angelo and Alisaie's project before all this, made him laugh with the description of Alisaie's clay pig, and they tell him excitedly of her progress until Nabaath Areng is clearly in view.

It doesn't take the Echo to bring back Ardbert's memory of Minfilia and his friends. Their last stand atop the tower won't ever really leave Áine's mind.

"You know, Minfilia was the first person I ever met who shared the Echo. I thought there was something wrong with me, but she saw it as a gift. She always had the confidence in me to use it well.

"I don't think the two of you ever met." They think back to the days of NOAH, spending days back and forth between the excavation site, odd jobs, and the Rising Stones. Of thinking G'raha Tia was a cocky scholar who would make a good friend with time. "She used to ask me about the Crystal Tower explorations, said it sounded more like a story than an actual place. She'd have liked you." Áine rests a hand over their heart. "I miss her. Minfilia, Moenbryda, so many others. I failed them, and I can't fail the Scions now." Their nails dig in, a dull ache in their chest to add to the steady burning above their heart.

"I wish I had your faith in me. I'll try, for this. I promise I'll try." Áine isn't sure if they're just talking to G'raha any more, or if anyone is listening at all. All they can do is hope.

* * *

Eulmore is next, at Alisaie's insistence. Áine takes note of as much as possible as they climb the stairs to the top floors, whispering little titbits about the changes Chai-Nuzz had begun to implement, the new developments in their friendship with the Crystarium. "You know," they muse after another busy citizen passes them on the stairs, "it's a good thing they're so occupied. I could never get away with all this talking to myself if they were as idle as before."

Alphinaud and the Chais are in the Canopy saying their farewells when Áine makes it to the top of the stairs. They can hear Dulia-Chai's reaction before they catch sight of them, and make for the group directly. The mystel clearly sees Alphinaud as family, and it brings a fond smile to Áine's face to see him well loved by the couple.

"You've grown a lot since we first met," they say afterwards.

"Not in an upwards direction, I fear," Alphinaud laughs. "Perhaps being reunited with my soul might inspire me to grow a little taller."

"Perhaps." Áine's response is noncommittal. "I think growth of character is far more important, and you've certainly learned a lot." The comment makes him blush, embarrassed. Alphinaud has ever taken failure with difficulty, and Áine knows it's of little use to ask him to forgive himself for the overconfidence of youth. The Crystal Braves might define him for years to come.

"Thank you, my friend." When Áine ruffles his hair, Alphinaud smiles.

They let him go after that, to finish any remaining business, and take to the balcony. From here the view is beautiful, the night sky reflected on the rolling waters. The remains of Amaurot lie deep below, hidden by the waves but no less hard to ignore. It's difficult to disregard the shade of Emet-Selch when it saved them mere days ago.

"When I spoke with Elidibus in Amaurot, I found symbols of the Convocation. Leftovers from our favourite Ascian, I think. One of his friendly ghosts explained them to me, and said one belonged to me, or who I used to be at least. Azem. I used it in the fight on the tower.

"I could hear his voice when it activated, you know. Odd, to think that even he believed in me once. Another me, though I can’t say we’re the same person. Without asking I can’t be sure, but I don’t know if I disappointed him. In the end it was hard to tell one way or another." _Remember us. You wanted me to see it, the end of the world._

"I'd like to visit there again. I think you'd enjoy meeting Hythlodaeus. Still, it's better not to add a trip to the bottom of the ocean on top of whatever else we should do before getting everyone home." _Not to mention having to think about my soul being a member of the Convocation is terrifying. If events had turned out differently, I wouldn’t be here._ “Not to mention Krile would have my head if she knew I’d dallied with such an urgent delivery to make.”

They watch the water a while more before heading inside, the muted bustle of Eulmore faded out here with the wind and the creak of the airships. Amaurot will wait for them, there at the bottom of the ocean.

* * *

Morning sees them in Il Mheg. Feo Ul may claim dominion over even the Rift, but there are others here who need closure before their departure. Áine dodges the questions of several fairies cooing over the mysterious object on their person, thanking as many of the pixies, Fuath, and Nu Mou as possible for their help in reaching the Crystarium. The pixies and the Fuath titter fondly, trying to persuade them to join their fun, while the Nu Mou take much pleasure in explaining how balanced the exchange was.

Tyr Beq finds them in Lydha Lran and excitedly recounts their part in tricking their guests. An Lad is a quieter presence at their side, following their excitable friend as they dramatise how they tricked five (no six, no eight!) of the apparitions into getting lost in the wooded areas of Timh Gyeus. They follow Áine all the way to Urianger's home, finding some mischief among the eaves that leaves them in tinkling laughter while Áine speaks with their host.

Urianger presses Ardbert's crystal into their hand carefully. "If thou art willing, I would have thee deliver it unto Seto."

Áine nods. The crystal is dim, but there's still the barest hint of light there. They don't doubt it's his. It resonates with their own, and the part of their soul that is Ardbert _knows_ it’s theirs. He also knows just where to take it. Áine tucks the crystal away beside theirs and sets their sights on Wolekdorf.

They find Seto much as they left him, even though the weeks since their first visit feel more like years. Welcoming them back, he accepts the crystal with grace and their explanation with sorrow. The old Amaro’s love for his lost companion is obvious.

In that moment, Ardbert shines through and they retreat, giving the two old friends their moment together. Ardbert floods their shared soul with gratitude and joy at this moment with one of his closest friends. Áine acknowledges it as best they can when they come back to themselves. Whether they can repeat that experience, they’re unsure about, but it was a worthy endeavour. Seto looks down at them fondly as the world settles before them.

"His journey continues," the Amaro says with understanding. "Then I will not yet bid him rest. With you, he may look forward to many more adventures." There are tears streaming down Áine's face again, unbidden, making their vision swim. They pat Seto gently above his beak, where Ardbert had left their hand. He pushes against it, speaking once more. "Do not cry tears of sorrow, my friend. You have given me a great gift today, and more besides."

Áine stays with the Amaro a while, letting their emotions settle. They can't quite find further words to speak, so they gently hold the pouch containing the spirit vessel as they bid goodbye to Seto. G'raha would understand.

* * *

Y'shtola promises Runar to cross the Rift in the Night's Blessed's hour of need, and Áine smiles at his enthusiastic response. The Hrothgar swings Y'shtola around happily, and she makes no move to stop him beyond a token call of his name.

When he puts her down, he is more bashful. "I apologise, my enthusiasm got the better of me."

"It is no trouble on my part, Runar, beyond the initial surprise." Y'shtola's wry grin perks him up again, and Áine leaves them to say their more personal goodbyes with no more than a quick word. Of the Scions, Y'shtola often requires the least explanation to parse Áine's intent. If she needs them, she’ll have little trouble finding them again.

The Greatwood is peaceful, far less ominous when they came to find Elidibus. Áine sticks close by the path leading to Fanow, veering off only when they draw close to the settlement. They find their feet taking them to the grove where Y’shtola was returned to them, treading the familiar grass.

This seems as good a place as any to say a goodbye. There’s little time before they leave to visit the Qitana Ravel, and Áine is still unsure what to make of their findings there.

“This place has seen some odd revelations. Perhaps it’s to be expected, as Y’shtola would hardly make it her home if it were boring. We watched her return from the Lifestream here, when he brought her back. I remember thinking I’d failed her, that we’d lost another friend for good. Without Ascian intervention, I suppose we might have.” _An odd enemy, to help so much._ “She’ll be missed among the Blessed.”

They spend their remaining time there quietly under the trees, letting the cool breeze wash over them. Soon it will be time to return and take the Scions home. Áine tries to push their doubts to the back of their mind. After all, this plan requires their belief. The Scions are counting on it.

* * *

Back at the Crystarium, Áine finds Ryne watching the others from afar. The Scions are gathered outside in the exedra, not far from the tower itself. Ryne peeks in on them from the plaza. Her nerves are plain to see. Twisting her hands into her dress, the fabric is beginning to wrinkle beneath her white-knuckled grip. Áine walks up to the anxious girl and coughs lightly.

"Oh!" Ryne jumps, startled. "I didn't know you were back."

Áine inclines their head, waiting for her to continue. Ryne slowly relaxes, looking back out at where the Scions haven't noticed them. Either that, or they’re trying out politely ignoring their observer. Behind Ryne, the aetheryte hums slowly as it spins in place, bathing the plaza in blue light.

"I always knew that you'd all go home someday, that it was a good thing, even." It all comes spilling out, Ryne's loneliness at being left behind. Her wanting it to be a happy occasion regardless of her own feelings. She looks at her hands as she talks, twisting them in her sleeves. "I know I'm just being foolish."

"No, you're not." Áine smiles down at her. "It's alright to miss them. They'll miss you too."

"You'll visit the First, won't you? Even if the others can't, it will be good to see you."

"Of course," Áine tells her. "I'll be with you here, too. We'll get them home safely." _We better._

Ryne smiles up at them. "Thank you. I think we all feel braver with you here. I just need a moment, and I'll join you."

* * *

Ryne says her piece, and the Scions theirs, and Áine watches. This goodbye isn’t theirs. The Scions have been family for a while now, and Ryne too, and Áine is grateful that they will be able to come back. Ryne has Gaia, and the people of the Crystarium, but she is still a teenager about to lose another father.

Thancred lays his hand on his daughter’s head, and Ryne smiles before hugging him. Behind them, the people of the Crystarium gather to offer their support.

Lyna is their spokeswoman, perhaps the one that knows best what’s at stake for them. Her sincere thanks to the Scions for their efforts are well received among them; though they would help the people of the First without a desire for recognition, such sentiments earnestly meant still buoy their spirits. Naturally, the twins must make their own comments in return. Áine lets them have the moment gladly. It is, after all, their farewell.

Lyna turns to Áine as she speaks of the Exarch. Her faith, and that of the people of the Crystarium, is fortifying to their shaken nerves, and they promise in good faith to relay every word to G’raha upon their return. How could they not, given a chance to show him how much he is loved? Lyna seems to see that, for how she smiles despite her grief.

When they enter the tower to the well wishes of those behind them, Áine feels confident they’ll all make it home. The belief of so many of Norvrandt in them would not be for naught.

* * *

As any scientist would, Beq Lugg holds a healthy amount of realism for what they are about to attempt. Nevertheless, they and Ryne have their hopes too. With all six of their friends safely ensconced about their person, it lies with Áine now to get them safely home.

“I know this has already been said, but thank you. The both of you have been a great help throughout this, and good friends besides.”

“Yes, yes. Now, off with you.” Beq Lugg waves them off, kindly but eager for them to test their theory. Ryne smiles at them.

“Good luck!”

Áine nods, heading for the mirror. _The moment of truth. Time to go home._

* * *

Upon laying out the Scions' vessels, it takes a moment before anything happens. Tataru shuffles nervously, while Áine and Krile watch for signs of the soul transference. The final vessel remains carefully tucked away on Áine's person, where it has remained since their confrontation with Elidibus. _Just a little longer, G’raha. I promise._ They press a palm softly over it, reassuring themselves that it remains. The extra weight feels normal now, feels _right_ somehow.

The vessels lying by the Scions glow softly and wink out, their owners flickering back to life. Tataru lets out a jubilant cheer.

"Oh! Oh, you're back! You're back! You're all back!" The twins, first to rise, confirm with each other that they are, indeed, awake. Y'shtola complains of feeling like a sack of tubers, while Thancred looks like he might have been hit by a speeding chocobo, but there they are, awake, and already showing improvement from the waxy statues their bodies were minutes ago. Between Tataru bustling around them to make sure they’re comfortable and Krile’s steady observation, they’re in good hands. Áine smiles reassuringly when Y'shtola turns her attention to them.

"May we leave the rest to you?"

Urianger is explaining regarding the blood, something Áine only half manages to listen to, catching the important part: the Crystal Tower should open to them. That's good enough, and they'll deal with the rest when they get there.

"I'm glad you're all back." They wave, and quickly move to the door, hoping no one in the Rising Stones is looking for conversation. Tataru is protesting in the background, with Alphinaud moving to excuse them, and Áine sends her a silent apology.

They pass through the Rising Stones as quickly as possible, no one save F'lhaminn in the reception area. Busily sorting through deliveries, the Miqo'te doesn't look up as Áine runs past. The Seventh Heaven is much the same. There are only a few patrons in the late morning, all minding their own business.

Mor Dhona itself is busy, however, and a glance over at the chocobo stables for their feathered friend shows a flurry of activity and an eager stablehand catching their eye as Áine looks over. When the Hyur opens his mouth, Áine runs toward the gate. They might regret it later, but conversation is the last thing on their mind right now.

Running through Silvertear, their destination rises above the crystallised landscape, glimmering in the sun. It's a hot day and Áine soon feels the effects of that. Still, they keep moving, careless of how red faced and flushed they must look to anyone out on the road to St Coinach's today. They press on past the excavation site, the open sky making way for the canopy of worn rock on the way to the Eight Sentinels.

Tracking their way through the almost-forgotten path to the tower, Áine can feel their heart pounding in their chest. They've slowed down now, but their mind is still barrelling through scenarios regardless. It works, it doesn't, they spend hours trying to find G'raha tucked away in some corner, the door doesn't even open despite predictions. The moment of truth grows nearer by the second.

Very little would stop them now, but there's something about the odd chime of an object falling to the stone past them that makes Áine pause.

Azem's crystal lies innocuously upon the ground. The symbol carved in its smooth surface is as stark as ever, despite its age. Áine takes it, holding the orange stone in their hand for a moment. They wonder what would happen if they called upon it, if it would ever answer again. A question for another time, perhaps. The stone goes into a pocket, its mysteries unrevealed until such a time as they can dedicate the attention to examining them.

Turning back to the doors of the tower, they seem to loom more now than before. Still, Áine knows what they came here for, and there is little they wouldn't do for this. They stop in front of the doors, reaching for the vessel. "Well, this is it. Think you'll let us in?"

The vessel is unchanging at first, but lifting it towards the door for a moment spurs it to glow. The doors respond, light shooting up through them in a familiar pattern. Áine breathes out slowly, their heart unclenching.

The tower is dark, the glow of instruments the only illumination. They step inside as the doors close behind them. Time to think as G'raha would. _Where would he go to sleep? What impression would he want to leave on those who woke him?_

Áine begins to climb the stairs, heading up. G'raha had his moments of flair, and Xande's throne room seems the obvious choice. The Ocular and the Umbilicus are along the way there, along with floor after floor to explore. They hope G'raha didn't pick somewhere out of the way to hide himself. Surely not, if he wanted those able to use the tower to wake him.

"Perhaps I'm overthinking things," Áine tucks the vessel away as they speak. "I'll find you in here somewhere. It just might involve more walking than I expected."

It's blessedly cool inside the tower, a mercy after the first ten floors. Áine's legs begin to ache by the twelfth, the run catching up to them. Still, they press on, following the winding staircase as it takes them ever higher.

The Ocular, when they reach it, is silent. It looks no different than it did in the First, save perhaps that the lighting is even more dim. The portal lies dormant on the far side of the room. Áine stops for a moment, the memories of this room holding them there. The place where they'd made so many plans, spent mornings bringing tea and pastries to encourage the mysterious Exarch to talk, just a little, about what he knew of Norvrandt. Where they'd spoken openly with G'raha, always that little bit delighted when they'd address him by name. It's hard to leave the room, even if he isn't here.

Further on, the Umbilicus is locked. It doesn't respond to the vessel, and they have no idea where a key might be. Áine frowns. "If you're in here, we'll be having words."

Nothing for it but to head to the throne room, then. The myriad landings and hallways where they'd fought through the tower are quiet, a far cry from when they'd first visited. They'd had no reason to come this far up in the First until Elidibus had invaded the tower, and they hadn't stuck around at the time. Perhaps if they had, it would have been a little like this.

There's no reason to climb that tower now beyond a statue, one they aren't ready to face again yet. _This_ tower, though, still holds some hope.

Finally, at the end of their long climb, they reach the throne room. Appearing open to the elements, it is nevertheless shielded, the wind whistling faintly but not reaching them. The sun is to the west now, afternoon having come while they searched. Cool water flows in the pools encircling the platform, fed to them via a complex system they’d spent a full hour listening to G’raha gush over when they had first climbed Syrcus.

The throne lies on the far side of the room, as crystalline as the rest of it. Built for Xande's giant form, the figure curled upon its steps is tiny in comparison. Áine's breath catches as they see him, looking for all the world like he had just settled in for a catnap.

"Raha." _You're lucky you've been shielded from sunburn up here_ , they want to say. Something to lighten the mood that has settled upon them. How he got there is an interesting diversion, though perhaps one they’d prefer in less momentous circumstances, the lowest step taller than Áine and ending beneath the water. 

Dipping a booted toe into the water and finding it shallow at this point, Áine pads over to the throne. Blue crystal provides no footholds, but the gold ornamentation upon it seems acceptable as a climbing aid. Áine tests its strength, tugging at the cold metal and finding it firmly affixed to its base.

Climbing is slow, their aching legs screaming for rest before they’re even a fulm above the water. When they’re high enough to reach the step, Áine pulls themselves up with as much weight on their arms as possible, kicking something loose below as their legs struggle to find purchase.

“Oh hells,” they mutter as they slip, hanging on as tightly as they can. Their left foot kicks toe-first directly into the hard crystal, and they yelp in surprise, wildly scrabbling with their right for purchase. After one, two, three failed attempts, sliding down and nearly falling, their foot manages to catch on the metal and they pull themselves over the ledge.

Áine catches their breath for a minute, lying on the steps and listening to the quiet buffeting of the wind around the tower and two sets of breaths. Their own is a staccato rhythm, thick and caught in their throat. The second is the quiet inhale-exhale of sleep.

Turning their head to him, Áine can see how little G’raha has changed, as if no time at all has passed. He looks peaceful, knees tucked to his chest and tail resting across them. His ears twitch softly as they pull themselves up to sit, but he otherwise remains unmoving. "I wonder what you're dreaming of. You never did say when you talked about waking up here."

Still no response, but this is unfamiliar territory. The Scions were absent their very souls, but G'raha's soul never left. Áine reaches for the vessel, but hesitates before placing it down. Until this moment, they’d been so worried about the how of things, but had not considered the consequences of getting this far. It hits all at once, like a wave crashing against them, and they deflate, words spilling out of them in a rush.

"I know this is what you want, but I still feel guilty. If this goes wrong, it'll be my fault. I didn't stop Elidibus before it was too late. He forced your hand, when we should have had _more time._ " They wipe tears from their eyes. "Please, let this work. Let this be what both of you want. I'll be here when you wake up."

Áine gently kisses the cold crystal, then runs a hand over G'raha's sleeping brow. They place the vessel beside him, wait, and pray.

It takes several moments for the vessel to glow brighter, resonating in G'raha like it had with the others. It dims as its power passes to him, his chest rising and falling more heavily. Áine moves to cup his face, pushing his hair back from his still-closed eyes. "Raha?"

He groans, scrunching his face up, before his eyes fly open. It's only the stiffness of his movements as he shuffles to sit up, tangled in his own limbs, that stops him from giving them both an injury.

"Áine?" His voice is rough with disuse. He reaches for them and they reach back, letting him hug them tightly. Áine's hands move naturally to his neck and around his waist, running fingers through his hair soothingly. He speaks again, his face pressed into their neck wet with tears, "It worked after all."

Áine pulls him closer. "You remember?"

"The First, yes. Everything. Including some very hazy dreams after we defeated Elidibus. Hearing your voice in such a situation was more than welcome." There's a teasing lilt to it, even through all the other emotions swimming on his face when Áine dares look him in the eye. _Oh._

"Twelve forfend, you heard that? It’s embarrassing enough that I said it." They go to bury their face into his neck, blushing furiously, but G'raha catches them by the chin.

"I suppose I did. I owe you my thanks, for taking me to say my goodbyes, as well as for carrying me here. Unfortunately, that will have to wait."

With that, he pulls them into a kiss, soft lips on theirs like coming home. Áine holds him tightly, shifting back so they're sitting comfortably as he leans his weight onto them. With the state the two of them are in, they might not be able to make the trip down for a while. Like this, being able to hold the person they love in their arms, that is little more than a secondary concern.

"I missed you." They kiss him lightly again.

"And I, you. You know not how much."

"I can guess. I'm glad you're back, and I have something to say." At the serious look on his face, they reassure him, "It's nothing you haven't heard before, but it bears repeating. I love you, G'raha Tia. I don’t say that near enough." _I’ll say it enough in future that I’ll never have to worry about forgetting it, if possible._

He blushes, ears twitching. The effect of his name, or the sentiments themselves, they are charmed regardless.

"I love you too." He smiles up at them, before his expression becomes serious for a moment. "This was not the ending to my story I had envisioned when I travelled to the First, but there is nothing in the world I would change it for."

"If I have my way, your story won't end for a while yet. A long and happy life, doing whatever you please."

"That sounds perfect."


End file.
